


Mirror, Mirror

by trollmela



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5771524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly before the end, Théoden sees his own face and realizes how he has aged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fic I posted in 2012 on the lj group Yet Hope Remains. The prompt was: 
> 
> Third Age - Théoden -  
> All these lines are born in sorrows and in pleasures,  
> and every man ends up with the face that he deserves.

The first time in a long while that Théoden caught a glimpse of himself and actually registered it, was in the blade of his sword of all places. He had polished it himself, as he preferred taking care of his own weapons, and when he had finished, had taken a look at the clean blade. He froze for a moment when he saw the face gazing back at him. He hadn’t expected to look so – old.

When had he last consciously looked into a mirror? He did not remember. But he was certain that the lines in his face hadn’t been this deep, the furrows not this long. But sorcery and poison had taken their toll. Losing his son had been a blow he had not been able to deal with yet; it seemed that wherever he turned, the enemy was already waiting for him. The dark lord himself seemed to be waiting for Théoden’s hand to slow, for his grasp to weaken and his blade to fall harmlessly onto the ground.

Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around the sword. Théoden forced himself to look away from the blade. Perhaps he had polished it too well. Its nicks and scratches were not even enough to hide his grief. He really shouldn’t have been surprised: times were bad for the Rohirrim, had been for a while. And he, as their king, had bled with them.

It was as the old wives said: Every man ended up with the face that he deserved.


End file.
